Silver Moon Glen
by highland laurel
Summary: Mingo and Israel have a close call with a mysterious creature. Contains references to Celtic lore.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Mingo, let's go!" Israel's impatient voice interrupted the conversation. His father looked down at his son's anxious face and frowned.

"Israel, what have I told you about interrupting people who are talkin'?"

The little blond boy hung his head and stubbed his booted toe against the ground. "I ain't supposed to do it, Pa."

Beside him Mingo looked down affectionately at the lowered head. "Israel, you_ aren't_ supposed to do it."

"I know, Mingo, but I'm tired o' waitin' on you! You said we'd go fishin' this mornin' and it's been mornin' _for hours_!"

The two men shared a smile at the boy's expense. Then Mingo bent and looked into Israel's frowning face. "If you are ready to go, then I'm ready too."

Israel bounded across the porch and leaped into the yard. He grabbed his fishing pole and leather pouch containing the lunch. He waved back at his father still standing on the porch beside their tall Cherokee friend. Mingo saluted Daniel, took his pole and rifle in his hand, swung his shot pouch and powder horn over his shoulder and followed the exuberant little boy.

The mid-March weather was warmer than normal and the migrating birds filled the trees with their songs. The moist ground exuded a fecund odor, filled with the promise of a bountiful season of nuts and berries. Mingo walked with his head high, the fragrances of spring filling his nostrils. Before him Israel skipped and bounced, his youthful spirit also filled with the promise of spring.

"Where are we goin', Mingo? Someplace special? You said you'd take me someplace special that I never been before. Where're we goin'?"

"We are going somewhere special, Israel. I found this place one day on my way to your cabin, and I thought to myself at the time that you'd really enjoy it too."

"How much farther is it? Way far away?"

"No son, about another mile."

"That's not far enough, Mingo. We'll be back home by dark. I wanted to stay out with you at night!"

"Well, I see no reason why we can't stay overnight. Your father knows where we are in the event he wants to have you back sooner."

Israel beamed a great smile at his friend and skipped another few steps. Overhead the morning sun warmed the surrounding forest and the trees released their spring fragrance. High in the branches they could hear the squirrels beginning their spring courting. A lone raccoon ambled across their path, his black-masked face pointed to the ground as he searched for grubs. The springtime borning infected both Mingo and Israel and they eagerly approached the clear, bubbling creek that wove its way through a beautiful grassy glen.

"What is this place, Mingo? I never been here before." Israel dropped his pole and leaned over the clear, cold water. His reflection waved in rippled distortion. Beneath the surface he could see tiny, tiny minnows darting from rock cave to rock cave.

"I don't know what anyone else calls it, but I call it Silver Moon Glen. I found it one night when the full moon was causing the grass to gleam a silvery white."

The little boy turned his blonde head to look at his friend. "Mingo, you sure do talk purty. I don't know nobody else that talks like you."

Mingo grinned at the information. "Is that something you consider positive or negative?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like the way that I speak or do you wish I would speak differently?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want me to talk like you do?"

"Oh. Well, sometimes," the little boy's face was screwed into concentration lines. "I like listenin' to you, but I don't always know what you mean."

"I see. Well then, my young friend, I will endeavor, I mean try, to talk as you do. "

"Like a ex-per-i-ment?"

Mingo's face split into a wide grin. "Yes, son, like an experiment."

Israel stood and unwound the line from his pole. "What're we goin' to use for bait?"

Mingo strode to the edge of the bank, slipped his knife from its leather sheath, leaned over the stream and cut into the moist bank. In only a few seconds he unearthed a fat grub. The gleaming white half-formed insect lay in his brown hand. He reached out for Israel's hook and secured the bait. Then the boy flung his line into midstream and sat down to wait. Mingo smiled to himself at the look of intense concentration on the little boy's freckled face.

He baited his own hook and leaped lightly across the stream to walk a dozen paces downstream where the widening creek created a tiny pond. He plopped his baited hook just before the eddy and let the current take the bait into the slower moving water. Seconds later he hefted a twenty-inch trout from the water. Israel watched him remove the fish and rebait his hook.

"Hey, Mingo, can I come down there too?"

"Don't you think there are any fish where you are, Israel?" Mingo teased.

"Yeah, there prob'bly are, but not as many as where you are. Can I come?"

"Of course. Pull in your line, stay on your side and put your bait where I did."

Israel scrambled to a position opposite Mingo. He tossed his line out too far and it drifted downstream past the eddy. "Israel, don't throw it out so far. Try again." Mingo's voice drifted on the early spring breeze.

Israel did as Mingo explained and in less than five minutes had landed a twelve-inch trout of his own. His face split into a wide grin, his missing teeth adding charm to his already charming freckles. Mingo grinned back. "Do you need help unhooking him?"

"No sir, Mingo. I can do it." Israel caught his tongue in his teeth and narrowed his eyes in concentration. Mingo carefully watched from across the stream. When Israel successfully freed his fish Mingo relaxed and rebaited his own hook. He dug into the bank and unearthed another grub for Israel. Leaning far out over the stream the tall Indian tossed the slimy grub to the boy. Israel rebaited and replaced his line in the water. The morning sunlight sparkled on the bubbles and the two sat and enjoyed the feel of the early spring day. Sighing in enjoyment, they removed their coats as the strong sunshine warmed them through. They ate the lunch that Rebecca had packed for them, fished, talked and dozed the day away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mingo hummed a Celtic tune as he struck his flint and steel into the waiting tinder. He began to sing softly as Israel spitted the fish onto the roasting sticks Mingo had cut. Israel listened to the words, his active mind embellishing the story and creating questions.

"Mingo……."

"Yes son?"

"That song you're singin'. What's it called? I never heard it before."

" 'The Great Silkie o' Suleskerry'. It is an old Scots song I learned years ago from a classmate at Oxford."

"Why are ya singin' it now?"

"Oh, I don't really know. I was just thinking about it. The moon on the water maybe."

"Sing it agin Mingo. Louder so I can hear it good."

Mingo's teeth showed white in the growing twilight as he smiled broadly. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. According to people in the Orkneys, silkies are attracted to singing. It was said that a silkie could be lured onto the land by singing and then captured."

"Can people really do that? What the song says. Turn into animals?" Israel's light eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"It's just a song, Israel." Mingo's eyes began to twinkle in return. "Though I have heard that the Celts believed such things happened."

"What's a silkie?"

"A being that can assume the shape of an animal, and then become human. It's a kind of enchantment. 'When angels fell, some fell on the land, some on the sea. Those on the land are fairies, on the sea they're silkie'. "

Mingo watched the expression on the little boy's face as the information was assimilated. "What kind o' animals? Like raccoons?"

Mingo laughed softly. "Well, the people of the Orkneys and Shetlands believe it is seals. So do the Irish and the people of Norway. Highland Scots believe them to be horses. I understand being near a flowing stream gives one a good chance of seeing a silkie. If they want you to see them. But be careful! I've heard that they lure children close, take them under the water, and the children are never seen again. "

"I know what a horse is, but what's a seal?"

"A sea mammal."

"See what animal?" Israel quickly turned his head to look into the darkening forest.

Mingo grinned. "No son, an ocean creature. You've never seen one."

"Have you?"

"Yes. They are common near the upper British Isles. And they do resemble people. They have long bodies and in the water they look something like a person swimming."

Again Israel sat silently, his active mind creating seals. The evening stars began to brighten in the darkening sky. The creek bubbled between its banks and the fire crackled.

"Mingo? If you see one o' them silkie things, you wake me. Will ya?"

"Yes, Israel, I will. I think you'd better raise your fish a bit. It's getting a little black on this side."

Israel raised his stick and continued to gaze into the fire. The cool March air made the fire most welcome. The little boy pulled his coat tightly around himself. The night was silent, the season being too early for insects and the birds already abed. Deep in the forest a wolf pack began to howl as the bright full moon rose. Israel glanced up at the silvery orb.

"Look Mingo, the moon's silver tonight. Do you think that'll make them silkie things come out?"

"Israel, that is just a tale. Don't stay awake looking for them. Hear me?"

Israel nodded, but Mingo could see the little boy's bright eyes and knew that his words had been in vain. He began to regret his lighthearted reference for two reasons. Israel would probably remain awake most of the night, and his Cherokee heritage had wakened a spirit of wariness in his heart. It was never wise to casually mention the Little People, of any race. Or any of their enchanted brethren either.

Thinking to make Israel less eager to see something supernatural, Mingo cleared his throat and spoke. "You know, Israel, if you speak too often about the Little People they become angry and work mischief. You don't want something to happen to your fish do you?"

"Like what?"

"Well, I have heard that angry Little People do things like throw ashes in your food."

Israel looked into Mingo's face, trying to decide if his friend was serious. As the two looked at each other across the fire a vein of pine resin popped and threw a shower of sparks and ashes all over Israel's fish. Mingo's eyebrows rose into his fringe and Israel dropped his roasting stick in surprise.

"Israel, get your stick!"

The little boy grabbed his stick and blew on his roasting trout. "It's alright, Mingo. It just got a little…..ash…..on ….it!" Israel's bright blue eyes grew as large as pennies. Mingo placed a long finger against his lips to warn Israel to stop. But the little boy's excitement was growing as his fertile mind took hold of the seed.

"Mingo! Ma's told me about leper….lepre…."

"Leprechauns?" Mingo instantly regretted his identification.

"Yeah! There're here, Mingo. There're out here with us. Ma's Irish ya know, and she told me they like bein' in the woods. She said they come out when the moon is bright and dance. She said they got a pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow. But she made me promise not to go look without tellin' her, since I got lost last winter lookin' for the ice fairies."

"Very wise." Mingo clearly remembered rescuing the little boy as he sat perched on a ledge above a steep rocky hill. "Israel, don't believe everything that you hear. No matter how much fun it may seem, tales are just that. They are tales."

"No sir, Mingo." Israel shook his little blonde head. "Ma said the tales are TRUE. She said the best time to see things are when the moon's full, like it is tonight. I bet we see somethin' tonight, Mingo. I betcha!"

Mingo sincerely hoped that Israel was incorrect. He cautiously peeked behind his shoulder into the silvery moonlight. The dark shadowy forest loomed fifty yards away. Silver Moon Glen glowed with the bright moonlight. The Cherokee felt the passage of ethereal wings against his cheek. Aggravated with his superstitious mind, Mingo shook his head and scooted closer to the fire's warmth as he fastened his coat around his tall lean body. Israel munched his roasted trout and looked expectantly with sparkling eyes into the same dark forest.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hours later Mingo lay on his side gazing into the fire. Israel lay asleep in his arms. The damp ground was cold against his chilled body. Above him the stars and moon wheeled in their nightly dance.

Israel had tried to stay awake, and even made two careful trips to the stream searching for silkies. He had asked dozens of questions regarding their size, shape and color. Mingo had resisted answering, but the child was nearly impossible to silence without resorting to more severe words than Mingo was willing to use. So he kept the fire bright and answered the questions with as little information as Israel would accept. Finally the little boy could remain awake no longer and drifted to sleep secure in Mingo's warm embrace.

Into the quiet of the night soft sounds intruded. Mingo was instantly alert. His right arm reached out and his hand grasped his rifle. The sound was coming from behind his back, near the stream. He could hear the lap of water. Nocturnal animals drinking, he told himself. But he couldn't shake his feeling of unease. Far, far away came a sound very like muffled drums. Pressing his ear to the ground, he was alarmed to discover that the sound appeared to be coming from beneath the surface, deep inside the earth.

Though his Celtic blood was rather thin, there was enough of it to mix with his Cherokee strain and create more than a passing belief in things unseen. His mind flashed back to stories he'd heard as a boy from his friends and family. Cherokee custom frowned on speaking of the Little People, especially after nightfall, and he had most assuredly shattered that custom only hours before. It was quite possible that they were now angry with him. He closed his dark eyes to avoid accidentally seeing them and bringing misfortune upon himself and Israel. After another hour he too was asleep.

In the early light of dawn Mingo awoke. Israel was just wakening, squirming in his arms. The fire was out and the cold March air caused them both to shiver. "Israel, run and get some more firewood. Quick now, son! Run. That will help you warm up."

Israel scooted for the timber as Mingo blew on the nearly dead coals and added some shredded bark to the ashes. When it caught he added the last firewood gathered the night before and the fire began to heat the air around him. Israel came trotting back with an armload of wood and dropped it beside the fire. He thrust his small hands out to the blaze.

"Sure is cold, Mingo. I wish we'd a brought some blankets."

"I do too, Israel. But we'll get warm soon. Didn't your run help you warm up?"

"Yep. Hey, Mingo, I almost forgot to tell you. There's strange tracks down by the creek."

A chill ran up Mingo's long spine as he raised his head. "What kind of tracks?"

"I don't know. They look kinda like mine, only smaller."

Mingo frowned and threw another stick on the fire.

"Ain't ya goin' to go look?" Israel's high voice betrayed his surprise.

"No, Israel. There's no need. How about another fish for breakfast?"

"Sure Mingo. Look for them tracks when you go get the fish."

Mingo straightened and walked to the creek. He carefully avoided looking at the creek bank as he bent and pulled the rope free of the water. He removed two fish and replaced the others in the cold stream. Keeping his eyes on the horizon, he strode back to Israel and cleaned the fish. Then the two hungry people quickly roasted their breakfast as the sun's warm rays toasted their backs.

An hour later the two friends were walking back to the Boone cabin. In his left hand Mingo carried a dozen fish strung on his rope, and Israel proudly carried his biggest trout alone. "Ma's goin' to be so proud when she sees what I got." Israel's voice was bright with pride.

Mingo nodded beside him. He was remarkably quiet, even for himself. Israel noticed and frowned at his tall friend.

"Hey, Mingo, did I do somethin' wrong?"

"Why do you ask that, son?" Mingo's smile eased the boy's mind and he smiled in return.

"You're just so quiet. You're always quiet, but you're too quiet."

Mingo smiled to himself at the boy's understanding of his mood. "Yes, I guess that I am. What would you like to talk about, Israel?"

Immediately Mingo regretted his question as Israel looked into his eyes and burst out, "I want to know about silkies. Did you ever see one with the seals?"

Mingo sighed. "I've told you all I know about them Israel. They aren't real. People make up tales like that to explain the natural world around them."

"What's that mean?"

"When people can't explain what they see, hear, or smell, or when something happens that they can't understand, they make up tales to explain it. Like having ashes in your food."

"The fire popped and made the ashes go all over my fish. Then I dropped it in the fire. That's how it got all ashy."

"Exactly. There is an explanation. But when someone doesn't understand how something happens, they make up a tale to explain it."

"Oh."

They walked on in silence. Soon the Boone cabin was visible in the distance. Suddenly Israel stopped and turned to look into Mingo's face. "What made the tracks by the creek while we was sleepin'?"

Mingo looked down into the bright blue eyes. He started to answer Israel with a lie, then changed his mind and replied, "I don't know, Israel."

"Them tracks was like mine, only smaller. If there hada been a boy there, we'd a heard him, right Mingo? Or he'd a seen us an' come to our camp."

Mingo tightened his lips. He nodded, then replied, "I can see your cabin. If we hurry we can get these to your mother and she can fry them for the noon meal. I imagine that your father would like some fresh fish, don't you?"

Israel nodded. Then he smiled at his friend, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I bet we just about seen a new kind o' silkie out there Mingo. Sure am glad I didn't get taken under the water! Ma'd be right mad at me if I got took."

Mingo placed his warm hand on Israel's shoulder. "I'd miss you terribly if you went to live with the fairies, Israel! I'm very glad they didn't take you last night."

"You wouldn't a let 'em have me. I know you'd a grabbed me back."

Mingo's brown face lit with the knowledge of Israel's unshakeable trust. His wide smile was reflected in Israel's own. Together the man and boy walked the last half mile to the warm cabin. Behind them near the deep forest at the edge of Silver Moon Glen the footprints remained.


End file.
